He's The Reason I'm Like This

I get asked two questions pretty often by my friends, teammates, and the handful of people that look in occasionally on this blogsite.

What the fuck is wrong with you? And how did you get this way?

Those are actually pretty fair questions. Everyone knows that goalies are a strange breed to begin with. We step in front of hard rubber pucks flying toward our bodies at a high rate of speed. Sometimes we get hit in places that aren't protected very well, and it hurts like a bitch. But we'd rather get hurt than fish the goddamn puck out of the net. At least I would.

And I've been a goalie in one sport or another for around 37 years, so that just multiplies the level of crazy. I think it's healthy that I at least realize that there is something wrong with me. I see the world a little differently than most people. And hopefully I express that in a way that gives you a chuckle every once in awhile.

The second question is easy. I know how I got this way. I know exactly why I'm a strange little fucker. Kids, for those of you that regularly read this trash, you might notice that I sometimes reference phrases and expressions from my dad.

I've kept him in the basement long enough- I think it's time that I introduce you to Lee Sterner.

Dad turned 80 a couple of weeks ago. You know you're getting old when you can write that your dad turned 80. Shit, 80 is how old your grandparents are supposed to be. But no, my very own father is now an octogenarian. And for all you hockey players out there, that doesn't mean that he has eight arms, okay? I know that was a pretty big word-I'll try to limit those.

So my older brother Dale and I gathered up our families here in Denver, and we took the five hour trip up to Casper, Wyoming to celebrate the important milestone. There are not many things that will make me willingly drive into Wyoming, because it is a complete shithole. I can say that with some certainty because I spent quite a bit of my youth there. But this was kind of a biggie, because we were celebrating a birthday that Dale and I never thought in a million years would happen.

You see, my dad (everyone just calls him Sterner, including my brother and me) hasn't exactly been the picture of health during his 80 years on Earth. He had his first heart attack at age 27, possibly as a result of his three packs per day habit of unfiltered Pall Mall cigarettes. Or maybe it was the gallons of whiskey that he drank. Or possibly it was from eating red meat with every meal. Shit, back in the 50's and 60's, that's just what everybody did. Whatever the reason, he's had a bad ticker forever. And when you throw in losing most of his stomach to an ulcer when he was 35, and a pesky case of diabetes that was diagnosed at age 40, you can see why we're kind of surprised he's still with us.

To his credit, he stopped smoking cold turkey when he was around 40, and he controls his diabetes with diet- he doesn't have to shoot insulin anymore. But he never stopped drinking- he still throws down a bunch of Wild Turkey and Diet 7-Ups every day. It never seems to phase him, and I've never seen him wake up with a hangover. When it comes to booze, he's a force of nature.

Now that I've given you some background on his physical side, let me tell you all a little about the personality characteristics that make up my dad. And once I've finished, you should be able to better understand why I am the way I am.

Sterner is what you can conservatively call a "character". He likes everybody, and everybody likes him. He's fiercely loyal, but if you fuck him over one time, he'll hold a grudge for the rest of his life. I inherited that trait- I can hold a grudge with the best of them.

You know he likes you if he gives you shit. And if he really likes you, he'll give you no end of shit. It's kind of a guage. If he doesn't give you a hard time, that's when you know you're in trouble. And I'm exactly like that. Hell, just look at my blog when I write game stories about my Dawgs team. Luckily, I like everyone on the squad, so I'm an equal opportunity ball buster. I try to take turns, but there are a few guys, like my man Marty, that I like so much I pound on them almost every week.

And if you look up the definition of "dirty old man", you will find a picture of my dad. Over the years, I have been amazed at what he can say to a woman and get away with, all because as he puts it, "I'm all cute and cuddly and shit". Here are a few examples:

Sterner makes jerky almost every day. Even at his age, he's still an avid hunter up there (I never got the hunting gene-not real big on watching things die), so he makes it from elk, antelope, deer, goose, and the odd gopher, I think. He always takes the jerky out to his country club in Casper to share with his friends and the waitresses. It's very good- they all look forward to him bringing it out. And every time, and I mean every time, he asks the girls if they want to gnaw on his "old, dried up meat". And God bless 'em, the girls play along and laugh every time.

Then later, he'll offer one of them some more. And if they make the mistake of saying "No thanks, I just had a piece", he'll always say, "I don't care about your sex life- do you want some jerky, or not?"

One of the girls will ask, "How're you doing today, Sterner?" And he'll always say "Without. You want to go someplace and change that?" And they always just laugh, shake their head and walk away.

Last time I visited him, a lady at the club told him that she was having a foot problem. He didn't even skip a beat before he looked at her and said, "I wish I had a foot problem. Even eight inches would be nice." Again, she just laughed and called him a sick puppy. I remember saying, "Sterner, someday one of these girls is going to knock you on your ass." He once again brought out his standard line, "Nah- I'm all cute and cuddly and shit".

He just has that certain charm, where he doesn't come across like a pervert- just a funny, harmless, and loveably dirty old man. And I honest to God believe that if he wasn't married, even at 80 he could parlay that charm into getting women into bed. He is that fuckin' smooth.

I asked him one time, back in the old days when I was single, for advice on how to get with girls. He told me "Boy (he still calls me boy, even at 51), it's just a numbers game. You ask the question often enough, someone is going to say yes." I responded, "Doesn't that get you rejected a lot?" He didn't even blink before he said "Who gives a shit? Like I always say-joke 'em if they can't take a fuck."

Here's the other part. Even at 80, he's sharp as a friggin' tack. He still does taxes for people (he's a retired CPA), including mine, and there is not one sign that his mind is ever wandering. He's getting a little hard of hearing, but the marbles are still in place.

My dad has a set of expressions, I call them "Sternerisms", that he uses all the time. And I literally mean all the time. You absolutely know that when a certain situation comes up, he's going to say the same thing, like the "dried up old meat" line. Here are some of those:

Every time he sees my wife Annie, he gets real close to her and says, "I don't care who you're married to- I still like you." He's been saying the same thing to her for 16 years.

Every phone conversation I have with him, the last thing he says is "Make sure you give the kids a big hug squeeze for me". Not hug and squeeze. Hug squeeze.

Every time he sees one of my brother's sons, he says, "Hey, look! Someone shit and put a green hat on it!" That expression changes, depending on what they're wearing that day.

Every time he introduces me to someone, he says, "This is my son Allen. Well, that's not quite true. Last time I saw his real father, he was running out the back door naked. He still owes me child support." That's a real crowd pleaser, that one.

When he sees a good looking woman at the golf course or in a restaurant, he always leans over to me and says "Wouldn't you like to try that on, and see if it fits?"

When he spots a skinny girl, he'll tell me, "Boy, you know what that is? That's called a "rib cracker". When you make love, you put it in soft, then listen to her ribs crack when you get a hard-on." Yep, that's my dad, ladies and gentlemen...

And every time he sees a tall girl, he says, "You know what's great about tall girls? Nose to nose, your toes are in it, and toes to toes, your nose is in it." I'm still not quite sure what that means, but that doesn't stop him from saying it.

There are also "golf Sternerisms"- expressions that he uses during every round he plays. Here are a few of the many:

When a guy makes a putt to beat him on a hole, he says, "You know what? You're like an erect penis. You have no conscience."

He'll hit a good drive, and someone will say "Nice ball, Sterner". And he'll immediately come back with, "Yeah, it's a Titleist. That is a good ball". After about 10 times, the other players will finally say "nice...uh...shot".

When a guy hits a putt that goes way past the hole, he'll say, "Hey, look! The gorilla hit one!" Every time.

Then if he leaves a putt short, he'll say, "What wrong, Alice? Did your tits get in the way?" It's always Alice, too.

If you have to go off into the bushes to take a piss, he'll always call after you, "Come back, boy! You're not taking enough club with you!"

When I get together with Sterner and my brother, we always play Gin Rummy. It's just something that we've done forever, and it brings out what I refer to as "tender family moments". Like everything he does, Sterner's very competitive at cards (more on that in a bit). He plays every day with his buddies at the country club, and has taken home hundreds and hundreds of dollars because he's so good. So when it goes badly, there are some more things that he says every time:

"Why, you lucky, unconscious prick."

"Boy, could you take the fuckin' horseshoe out of your ass before the next game?"

"Boy, I hope your dick falls off."

To be fair, I'm just as bad. A couple of years ago when we played, I actually called my father a "fuckhole". He laughed for 10 minutes- still tells all his friends about it. That's what I mean when I talk about "tender family moments".

Yeah, the Sterner family is pretty competitive. I'd like to think that I've gotten a little better about it as time has gone by, especially the last couple of years. I'm trying to set a decent example for my kids, but there's a fine line between being too competitive and not competitive enough. I always want my kids to play to win, just don't let it consume them if they happen to lose.

There is no such line with my dad. His whole philosophy was summed up at his 80th birhday party, when he saw me wearing my Dawg Nation t-shirt. On the back, it has our team motto, which includes "be modest in victory, and gracious in defeat". He walked up to me, and said "Boy, I just read the back of your shirt. If I've told you once, I've told you a million times. Show me a good loser, and I'll show you a loser."

He means that, too. I've never known anyone that hates to lose more than he does. And here's a story from his high school days that shows just how true that is.

He played football for Lewistown High School in Montana when he was a sophomore, even though he was 5'1" and weighed about 120 pounds. One day after practice, a senior farmboy lineman that was like 6'3" and 220 came into the locker room and snapped him hard with a wet towel. Left a big old welt on his back. You could do that shit back in 1945.

Sterner wasn't about to take that lying down, but he knew there was no way he could fight the bastard. So while the senior was in the shower, Sterner set fire to the clothes in his locker. Just stuffed everything in there, and torched all his shit. Needless to say, the senior wasn't a happy boy when he got out of the shower, and proceded to beat the living piss out of my dad.

Sterner couldn't let it go. He dragged his pummeled ass out to his car, and waited for the senior to come out of the locker room. When the guy walked into the parking lot, Sterner hit the fucker with his car. Didn't break any bones, but I guess it jacked him up quite a bit.

And the best part was that Sterner got away with it. The senior was too scared to press charges, because he thought my dad was fuckin' crazy enough to hunt him down and shoot him after he got out of jail. He was probably right. And for those of you that are calling bullshit right now, I'm sure this story is true- my aunt and my uncle told me the same accounts when I was a kid. I don't doubt it one tiny bit.

So besides small stature, competitiveness, ball busting our friends and the love for dirty jokes, I got at least one other thing from my dad. We both use humor as a defense mechanism. I can't tell you how many times I've cracked a joke when I've visited a friend in the hospital, or attended a wedding, or even when I've gone to a funeral. When shit gets heavy, I bust out the one liners. Sterner's the same way. It's just what we do.

Here's the best example. Back in 1986, the space shuttle Challenger exploded after it took off. It was one of saddest moments in American history. Shit, there there were a bunch of civilians on board, including schoolteacher Christa McAuliffe. I called Sterner up at work, because I knew he was a big fan of the space program. In fact, he's the most patrotic person I know.

So I got him on the phone, and said, "Dad, did you hear about the space shuttle exploding this afternoon?" It went dead silent for about 15 seconds, but I knew he was still there. I guess he hadn't heard yet. I'll never forget what he said next.

"Boy, you know what's the best part about that? Not one of those people owed me money."

So anyway, that's my dad in a few brief paragraphs. I hope that helps explain a little bit why I am the twisted little fella that I am. Even though he's had a pretty good and productive life, I'll be absolutely the first person to admit that he's far from perfect. He drinks too much, makes way too many dirty jokes, is way too competitive, and bottles up all of his emotions.

Someday, when I grow up, I want to be just like him.

Family Night and the Spelling Bee III

So last Friday night my family sat down for one of our biggest events of the year- the Scripps Howard National Spelling Bee Finals. Or as we like to refer to it: The Running of the Dorks. This has become a nice family tradition for us- it kind of marks the beginning of the summer.

Much like the Miss USA beauty pageant (see story below), this is a terrific opportunity for us to make fun of the contestants and their families, and maybe try to learn something in the process. Okay, forget that last part- we don't give a shit if we learn anything. As long as there are doinks, we're all set.

If you've ever seen this contest before, this is what the military guys call a target rich environment in the nerd department. So, just like I did in June of 2009 and May of 2008 (archived on this site), I'm going to keep a running diary of our evening.

Oh, and just like I usually do before I begin, I want to confirm what you're thinking: my family and I are a bunch of assholes that need to find a hobby. Yeah, now tell me something I don't know. But like I said last year, when was the last time you sat in a room with your kids and laughed your ass off for two hours? It's been awhile, right?

So hang on to your gluteus maximi, kids (that's asses- see, you're already smarter)- here we go...

7:00- Welcome back to the Sterner basement fortress! Tonight we're once again joined by my lovely wife Annie, along with my two older boys Mike, 15, and Sam, 14. The two smaller kids have once again been chased out of the basement because the language gets a little colorful down here. They're upstairs watching a very special ICarly, where she gets inappropriately goosed by her older brother, who's like 35 in real life. I know this because my daughter has that show on 19 hours per day. I've renamed it IWannaKillCarly.

Hosting the spelling bee tonight will be (we all collectively cross our fingers and chant "Not Tom Bergeron...not Tom Bergeron): Chris Harrison from The Bachelor. I've never seen that show- even I have to draw the line somewhere. With him is a wonk named Paul Loeffler, who won the bee back in the 90's. We all agree that there is no friggin' way Paul has ever touched a girl, much less gotten his bean snapped.

And backstage interviewing the losers will be the very attractive Erin Andrews from ESPN and Dancing With the Stars. I watched the last four episodes of DWTS, and she is a whole lot of bueno. Just as last year, this will be the last time in their lives that the boy contestants will be anywhere near an attractive woman.

7:10- We've gotten through all the preliminary crap, and now it's time to meet this year's ten finalists. Again, like last year I'm going to assign a nickname to everyone, because there are a shitload of letters in these names, and my typing skills haven't improved one tiny bit. They are:

Shantanu Srivatsu (Fargo, ND)- Believe it or not, there are some Indian kids in the finals. Wow, that almost never happens. Shantanu's not a bad looking kid, but he has a giant gap in his front teeth. We'll call him "Picket Fence".

Anamika Veeramani (Cleveland, OH)- Anamika was here last year. Her eyes were really far apart then, and the gap hasn't closed since we saw her last. Once again, she'll be "E.T."

Joanna Ye (Carlisle, PA)- Pretty normal looking Asian girl, which as always means she has no shot of winning this contest. Normal around here almost always spells doom. Joanna's dad looks like Mr. Sulu from Star Trek, but I don't think it's him. Mostly because Mr. Sulu is 75 years old now, and likes having a big, hairy one stuffed in his butt. She'll be "Ye Haw".

Aditya Chemudupaty (Houston, TX)- See why I'm giving everyone nicknames? Holy shit, could you have some more letters in your name, Aditya? He has wire rimmed glasses, so Mike gives him the name, "Brown Harry Potter". Chip off the old block, my kid Mike.

Laura Newcombe (Toronto, ONT)- I didn't know they let Canadians in this thing. Shit, most of the Canadians I know are dumber than a bucket of hair (another one of my dad's sayings-always try to sneak one in). Despite her last name, Laura is Asian, so we're going to call her "Can-Asian".

Adrian Gunuwan (Arlington Heights, IL)- Yet another Asian kid, with an odd shaped head. The thing starts out really wide on top, and then narrows considerably as we get to his chin. We can't put our finger on what the shape looks like for a few minutes, and then it comes to us. Adrian will be called, "Candy Corn". Honest to God, that head should have three stripes on it.

Lanson Tang (Potomac, MD)- Holy cow, there are so many Asians here, it's like a blackjack dealer's convention. Lanson's a tiny little bastard, with a mouthful of braces. He has the easiest nickname of the night- the kids and I all yell it at the same time.

"POON-TANG!"

Goddamn, I love my kids.

Julianna Canabal-Rodriguez (Mayaguez, Puerto Rico)- I'm so happy right now, I just crapped a little bit in my Underoos. I announce- "Gentlemen, please start your Puerto Rican jokes!" She has to stay in the competition for awhile. She'll be the "P.R. Cannibal".

Andrew Grose (Sheboygan, WI)- Well, lookie here- it's a white kid! Andrew looks like a less cool Michael Cera, and he has his khakis hiked up way too high. The kids and I see where he's from, and we all start doing impressions of Professor Frink from The Simpsons, which is an impression of a young Jerry Lewis. It's tough to describe, but phonetically it's something like:

sha-BOY-gun!!

So that will be his name- Sheboygan! It's kind of addicting- you should try it. Say it with me:

Lay-dee! Do you know how to get to Sha-BOY-gun!

You guys really need to start working with me on this shit.

Elizabeth Platz (Shelbina, MO)- One more white girl, and kids, she is really, really white. She has her blonde hair pulled back so far that she's sporting an "eight-head", and her teeth are pretty messed up. Elizabeth is about five years away from renting an apartment and living with 10 cats. It takes a few minutes, but we finally figure out who poor Lizzie looks like.

She's going to be called "Beetlejuice".


No shit- this is pretty close

Before we move on, I just wanted to mention one kid that didn't quite make the finals, but the kids and I wished to God that he had. We watched a little bit of the semifinals this afternoon, and there was this kid:




This is Nicholas B. Rushlow from Lancaster, Ohio. Boys and girls, this is one goofy little mother-ripper. Squeaky voice, fidgeted the whole time he was on stage, and just look at his hair. He would have been "Ginger Jew-Fro", and the jokes would have been just endless. We were just devastated when he went out. Oh well, maybe next year...

7:25- We're finally through with all the introductions, and it's time to spell some fuckin' words. As always, the moderator will be Dr. Jacques Bailey, who won the bee back in 1980 and is from here in Denver. I didn't know that until I Wikipedia'd his ass. With him is an unidentified priest who just silently sits there. Not sure what his function is, but it just opened a door to a whole new set of jokes. Here's one (I heard this recently):

What do priests and McDonalds have in common? They both stick their meat in ten year old buns. Ba-dum-bum. Thank you-I'm here all week.

You know, I'm not a Catholic, but I have to believe that they had a different legacy in mind than being known worldwide for their leaders molesting young boys. I'm almost sure I'm right on this. In case you're wondering, I'm a practicing Frisbeeterian. We believe that when you die, a smelly hippie throws your soul up on a roof, and it never comes down.

Anyway, they've changed the rules a bit so that the spellers can only ask three questions, like "Can you use it in a sentence?", or "What is the language of origin?".

Mike says, "The guys should use one of their questions to find out what a vagina looks like". Cracked me up. But come to think of it, I doubt that either Dr. Bailey or the priest dude knows the answer to that.

Okay- E.T., Picket Fence, and Ye Haw all get through their first words, and then PR Cannibal steps up. They stop everything for a moment, and run a little feature so that we can get to know PRC better. This is notoriously a giant Kiss of Death when they do this. They spend five minutes on the contestant, and then when they come back live, the speller chokes on the first word they get. Let's see if it happens again.

PRC loves to paddleboard in her native land of Puerto Rico, which basically is riding a big surfboard and steering with a pole. Sam says, "Hey, I'll bet that's how she got over to the U.S." She's also about two years away from having J-Lo's ass.

They return for her word, and sure enough, she completely butchers gyokuro, which is a Japanese green tea. This pisses off the whole room-we had so many more jokes. I had a whole West Side Story thing lined up, complete with dancing and choreography. Fuck-maybe next year.

She immediately bursts into tears, and collapses into the arms of her mom as she's leaving the stage. It's a very tender moment, until Mike says, "I'll bet that's going to be one sad float home." That one just killed me.

Next, Brown Harry Potter steps up, and he's wearing a wristwatch that is bigger than his whole head. Why do doinks wear such big watches? Is it so that they know exactly what time to masturbate while watching Battlestar Galactica? Well, he tanks huge on engysseismology (something about earthquakes). They keep showing his mom as he's struggling with the word, and she's getting more and more pissed as he tries to spell it. When the bell rings, signifying that he missed and he needs to immediately get his failed ass off the stage, she goes storming out of the auditorium with her sari in a bunch. You just know that he'll be going to bed without any curry tonight.

Next is Sheboygan, and he spells his word correctly. But as he turns around to head back to his seat, we notice that his khakis are riding all the way up his ass. I'll bet that priest just had a mild stroke when he saw that. We'll need to get him a drool bucket if the kid doesn't fix that problem.

CanAsian is next, and she goes out on confiserie, which is a French word meaning "candy store". She asked Dr. Bailey to use it in a sentence, and he said, "The French never bathe before they go to the confiserie, and they surrender on the way down there". Okay, I made that up. I just hate the fuckin' French.

Candy Corn gets his word right, and he speaks just like Keanu Reeves. I can't help but do a quote from my favorite guilty pleasure movie The Replacements, where Keanu plays a football quarterback. He looks around the huddle, and says, "Gentlemen, it has been an honor to share the field of battle with you". It may be the worst delivered line in the history of movies. I watch that piece of shit every time it's on.

Here comes PoonTang, and his voice is lower than James Earl Jones. No fuckin' way this kid is 14. It flashes on his bio that he aspires to be a game designer. Gee whiz, no shit? Whatever- Poony goes down on leishmanic (some kind of parasite), and he hits the road. He'll be touring with the Temptations this summer, doing the bass part in "Papa Was a Rolling Stone" (if you get that joke, you're really old).

Dr. Bailey says Beetlejuice's name three times, and she appears. You know, because that's what... happened in the movie. Jesus, do I have to explain everything? Try to keep up. It says her favorite book is the dictionary, and she and her brother have an extended Beanie Babies collection. Dear God, this girl is so screwed. She gets her word right, and sits down to contemplete her next 70 years of virginity.

7:50- Back from commercial, and they're showing all the spellers out on a little field day. I'll bet the SPF300 sunscreen was flowing that day- shit, half of those kids have never been outdoors. They're all wearing t-shirts with one letter on them, and they keep getting together to form words. Believe it or not, the kids and I had some suggestions for them:

HATE MY PARENTS

KILL ME NOW

PRIEST TOUCHED ME

7:55- So we're down to six. Picket Fence quickly spells his word again- he looks very confident. He's probably the favorite right now. E.T.'s pretty good too, plus she has the experience of having been there last year.

Uh oh, there goes YeHaw. She misses tailleur (woman's tailored suit), which pisses off her dad, Not Gay Mr. Sulu. He gives her that look, where he wishes he had a son instead of a daughter. Mike notices, and launches right into the Asian accent.

"Don't talk to me again until you doctor!" I spend the next two minutes crying in my easy chair.

Dammit, Sheboygan's out! He crapped the bed on aquinaldo, which is Puerto Rican Christmas music. No shit- that's really what it is. I have a quick conniption, because too many jokes enter my head at the same time.

Disappointed, he turns to leave the stage, and sure as hell, he still has that hungry ass going with his khakis. When he gets a few steps away, you hear this clanking sound. He turns to notice that the priest has thrown his hotel room key on the stage. This night might not end well for she-BOY-gan!

8:05- Everyone else got their word right, so we're down to four. They're dropping a lot faster than last year- I think they only lost one speller through three rounds in 2009. Looks like it's time to stretch things a bit to make sure they fill the two hours. Here comes a feature on Candy Corn.

The first thing he does on the feature is make a funny face, and Mike says that's what he looks like when he's jackin' off. The best thing on my TV is the ability to pause live shows, and I have to do that for a minute. Busted me up again.

They finish the piece (an Asian kid that likes math-stop the presses!), and right on cue, he misses his next word. Leaves out an "r" in terribilita (describing the awesomeness of Michaelangelo- the painter, not the Mutant Ninja Turtle). I think I'd pass if ABC wanted to do a feature on me- they might as well use the Grim Reaper as the reporter.

Beetlejuice comes back up, and they show her dad and her brother on the other side of the stage. They appear to be wearing matching capri pants (or they're just hiked up really high), and both are sporting sandals with socks. Bitchin'!

Beetlejuice smiles nervously, which is a bad idea. Her teeth look like she might possibly have scurvy. She gets the word rhytidome, which is the outer bark of trees. She asks Dr. Bailey to use it in a sentence. He says, "Your teeth look like you've been chewing on rhytidome". Even that doesn't help, and she bombs out in third place. Next stop- the Humane Society to pick up her cats.

8:15- Alrighty, kids, we're down to our last two spellers! I'll bet the ABC producers are having a little panic attack, because there are still 45 minutes left, and this is live TV. They probably have Erin Andrews changing into her Dancing With the Stars outfit right now (which is a terrific idea, by the way), and she'll be doing the Highland Fling with Dr. Bailey if this thing ends quickly.

So the survivors are Shantanu Srivatsu (Picket Fence), and Anamika Veeramani (ET). Standing together up on the stage, I'm half expecting them to break out in the song "Tally Ho" from Slumdog Millionaire. I come to the conclusion that I might possibly watch way too many movies.

(While we have a moment, can I just go off on a little bit of a tangent? Have you actually seen Slumdog Millionaire? Don't get me wrong- it's a very good movie, and probably deserved to win the Academy Award. And while it ended nicely, I spent the first hour and a half fighting the urge to blow my fucking brains out. Damn, if I want to be depressed, I'll just look in the mirror before I step into the shower, thank you very much. I don't want to spend $10 to feel like shit for three days. Okay, back to the spelling bee. Thanks for listening.)

They hold serve for a few words, but then Picket Fence opens the door when he misses ochidore, which is some kind of crab. Come to think of it, I got a case of the ochidores from a girl one time. I knew I'd seen that word before...

Now E.T. needs to spell her word, and then one more, and she will be the winner. She has no problem with juvia, which is the tree that yields Brazil nuts. Seems like a pretty easy word, under the circumstances.

Okay, here comes the final word: it's stromuhr. That's a meter that measures the flow of blood through arteries. See, if nothing else, you enhanced your vocabulary tonight. And not just with new swear words. You're welcome.

E.T's dad has a big smile on his face- looks like they've seen the word before. Oh, and did I mention that E.T. wants to be a cardiovascular surgeon? What a fuckin' break. She checks the word origin to make sure, then rattles it off easily to win the whole enchilada. That's a $30,000 enchilada, by the way.

The strange thing is that E.T. doesn't smile. Not even once. Makes you wonder whether she really wanted to do this, or if dad pounded on her to compete. I ask the boys their opinion. They talk it over and decide unanimously that they don't give a shit. I'm glad we cleared that up.

8:30- They return from one more commercial, and they're ready to present the trophy to E.T. Just like last year, the trophy is handed over by Dr. Richard Boehne, and just like last year, the kids and I wonder if the poor bastard had to go through life with people calling him "Dick Bone". We never got a good answer on that one.

So that's it for another year, boys and girls. This year was little bit disappointing, because so many contestants flamed out quickly, before we could really develop a nice running dialogue for them. But we still had a great time as usual, and look forward to the Miss Universe Pageant in August, where we'll all get together and crack on some international skank. Be sure to come back for that.

Now, if you'll excuse us, ABC is filling the other half hour with an episode of "Wipeout". People falling down for a half hour- that's about our speed.